


After You Burn Me Down

by enthroned



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthroned/pseuds/enthroned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Casey really shouldn't know what Severide tastes like, but he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After You Burn Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of fell into Chicago Fire headfirst and couldn't help but want to know more about Casey and Severide before the show's beginning. If the characterizations are off, that might be because I watched the entire season in one day and I apologize profusely. This is horribly unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> The title is from "Fire" by Ingrid Michaelson.

Severide tastes of smoke and beer and spearmint. Casey shouldn’t know this, but he does. 

It starts when they’re both still too young to know better, when Severide takes more than two smoke breaks per day and somehow always manages to drag Casey and Andy to the bar after nearly every shift. He almost fools them both into believing that alcohol and pretzels constitute a healthy breakfast. They share stories, until there aren’t any left to share, and even then it doesn’t matter, because the silence is still comfortable between the three men. It’s easy to laugh then, easy to breathe and let themselves relax for the first time in twelve hours. Darden always leaves the bar first, and he has a wife and then one, two little ones to get home to, so it's always understandable and the other two don’t even try to give him a hard time. He tosses them each a salute on the way to the door, and then he’s gone. Severide always convinces Casey to stay for at least one more.

The first time it happens, Casey is in the middle of telling Severide to walk his drunk ass home. They spill out onto the sidewalk, Casey making a grab for Severide’s keys as soon as they are greeted by the bright morning sun. He knows a protest is coming his way, one is always right behind Severide’s teeth when it comes to just about anything. Instead, those teeth come down on Casey’s bottom lip and he nearly drops the keys that have somehow found their way into his palm. His hands reach up, so sure of themselves when they should be so terrified or enraged or, at the very fucking least, dazed instead, and his fingers curl into the leather of Severide’s jacket. It lasts for all of five seconds, maybe less, before Casey pushes at Severide’s chest, tells him, “You taste like death, Kel,” and pockets his keys.

The next morning, when they’re both so very close to falling asleep on their feet and Andy is probably already crawling into bed beside his wife, Severide crowds Casey against the brick wall of the nearest alley. He makes a show of folding a piece of bright green gum into his mouth before pushing his lips against Casey’s. Casey’s fingers slide up to the back of Severide’s skull, almost cradling him, and Severide makes up for the gentle gesture by knocking Casey’s head back against the bricks. He apologizes by planting a kiss on Casey’s eyebrow and willingly handing over his keys. Casey isn’t sure that the gesture makes up for the fact that he nearly choked on a piece of spearmint gum.

They never talk about it, and they never let it - whatever it is - come over them in front of Andy. Until the day that it does come over them and Andy happens to be there, at least. It’s the middle of winter, meaning it’s cold enough to lose a few toes just from standing outside for too long, and there’s a few new inches of snow on the ground. The three of them are sprawled across Severide’s kitchen, not entirely sure how they got there but warm enough not to care. When Casey hands Severide a bowl of oatmeal, prepared on the stove rather than in the microwave because Casey actually fucking likes to cook, he doesn’t think – he never bothers to think – before kissing the corner of his mouth in silent thanks. Everything freezes, even the air in the room because Severide is suddenly finding it harder to breath. It’s quiet for a long time, and neither Casey nor Severide can seem to let go of the bowl of oatmeal that’s growing colder by the second. The silence breaks when Darden raises one shoulder in a shrug and asks, “Can I get some oatmeal, Case? Minus the kiss.” They laugh, Casey flips Darden off, and Severide can breathe again.

In the summer, when it’s too hot to even think about clothes, they find themselves on Casey’s couch. Severide pulls Casey onto his lap, rolling his eyes at the man’s whines about the heat. He shuts him up with his tongue. When he's helped Casey out of his shirt and shorts and they're this close, Severide can touch every one of his scars, and he does. There’s one on his thigh that Severide knows he didn’t get from the job, and another across his lower back that he knows, just knows, was formed by fire. Casey might flinch the first time his fingers find it, but Severide pretends not to notice. He doesn’t say anything, can’t because his mouth is doing something so much better than talking for once. Instead, he just traces the webbed pattern until it is committed to memory. 

This shouldn’t last through the seasons, shouldn’t see the leaves fall and the snow melt, but it does. They should talk about it, use their words and find some way to communicate like the grown men that they are, but they don’t. Instead, Casey cooks enough for two people, Severide chews through a pack of gum each day, and, when Severide pins Casey against the nearest hard surface, it’s obvious that there’s no time for talking.


End file.
